


i'll know my name as it's called again

by voidify



Series: sigh no more (valvert vignettes) [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Bureaucracy, Canon Era, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Paperwork, Post-Seine, T rated to be safe but all the content’s basically G until the very end, and he has to invent his signature at age 65, but with a fluffy conclusion, immediately after the standard plot point of vj getting pardoned, javert wants his boyfriend to stop overthinking everything, set in the standard valvert canon divergence au, signatures, valjean overthinks everything, valjean-typical angst, vj having a minor crisis about how his life has been so weird
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 10:41:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17917208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voidify/pseuds/voidify
Summary: Valjean, after being pardoned, encounters an unexpected obstacle filling out the requisite paperwork— he is not quite sure how to sign his own name.





	i'll know my name as it's called again

**Author's Note:**

> The inspiration hit me for another oneshot; it's directly based on a headcanon I posted in sewerchat! Eventually I’ll work on chapter 3 of When Tomorrow Comes, I promise. 
> 
> Title taken from “The Cave” by Mumford & Sons— a very good song full of valvert energy, by a very good band whose entire discography is notable for its valvert energy.

The transition from living under a false identity to using one’s own name, Jean Valjean was now discovering, required a great deal of paperwork. He was certainly glad to begin this new chapter, to be able to live under his own name without fear of arrest— really, to say he was merely _glad_ had to be the understatement of the century. And another new blessing had come into his life along with the pardon; his uncertain relationship with Javert had blossomed into something entirely new ever since the night after the court ruling. 

But good God, this process was going to be tedious. 

Valjean surveyed the pile of forms in front of him; Javert had been kind enough to collect many of the most necessary ones from the courthouse for him. He selected one that did not seem particularly long… and soon noticed a clause in it requiring him to have already submitted another form, so cast it aside for later. This process was repeated a surprising number of times, until Valjean finally found a form that only required information he already had. He filled it out, and signed the dotted line at the bottom without particularly thinking.

He was about to place it down as the foundation of a ‘complete’ pile— but then, he took a second glance at his signature.

_Ultime Fauchelevent._

And for a split second, he didn’t notice anything wrong.

But then it hit him— that was not his name anymore.

In fact, that had never been his name.

Valjean crossed out the inaccurate signature that had, despite its falsity, been reinforced by a decade of muscle memory.

He lifted the pen again, and went to sign _his_ name.

The pen stalled. A pool of ink formed above the dotted line.

He did not know how to sign his true name.

…Had he _ever_ known?

Valjean discarded the form. It would need to be replaced, given the ink stain. And he could not complete it if he did not have a signature.

He tried to recall how he had once signed ‘Jean Valjean’... and could not.

In Faverolles, Valjean had been illiterate; on the few occasions that his written confirmation was needed for a contract or form, he had signed with a mark. He had only learned to write in Toulon, and there had been very little opportunity to develop a signature _then_. If he had signed anything while on parole, the ‘signature’ would have been either little more than printing his name, or an improvised scribble— a crude scrawl beginning with a semblance of a ‘J’ and containing something like a ‘V’ in the middle.

And after that, all his names had been false.

He had signed his name ‘Madeleine’ many times, ‘Ultime Fauchelevent’ a good few times— but ‘Jean Valjean’, almost never.

This was unbelievably strange for Valjean to consider, now that he thought about it. Sixty-five years of age, and he could read and write quite well, but not sign his own name! For quite some time, Valjean had been in possession of an awareness of how strange his life story was in general— but only now was _this_ specific aspect truly sinking in for him. 

Valjean supposed he must decide on a consistent signature before proceeding. Yes, in theory, he could improvise for each of the forms and allow a signature to organically develop— but given his background, he was certain this would risk raising unnecessary suspicion among the bureaucrats when he went to submit the forms, which would only make this whole process even harder.

He retrieved a stack of letter paper from a drawer, and began to attempt a variety of signatures.

 _Jean Valjean_ — no, that one was too simple; people would judge him.

 _Jean Valjean_ — no, too intricate; he would not be able to rewrite this on fifty different forms without his hand aching or it being distorted beyond recognition.

 _J. Valjean_ — no, that was barely more than a scribble. 

_Jean Valjean_ — no, this one was too fancy.

 _J. V. J.—_ with a little refining, this one might actually work for paperwork where he was expected to initial— but it was useless as a full signature.

He continued, each attempt equally _not quite right_ in a different way. The day’s last light faded— Valjean had filled two full pages with differently written versions of his name, and was beginning on the third; he had narrowed the search, but had still not found something quite satisfactory. He lit a candle and continued. The inkwell was running low. 

Javert returned from work to find Valjean at his desk, still writing.

“Have you been working on the forms all day?— which one would you be up to now?” Without waiting for an answer, Javert leaned forward to see the page on the table— only to see that it was not a form, but rather consisted solely of versions of ‘Jean Valjean’. “Ah, I see, you have gone mad.”

Valjean laughed. “One would think it!” He sighed. “This is all I have done, really. The first form I tried— I signed it ‘Ultime Fauchelevent’ on reflex, and… it came to my attention that I never properly developed a signature of my own name.”

“…Ah. Well.” Javert was at a loss, temporarily. “…You seem to have assembled a shortlist there,” he indicated the page, “could I be of assistance in selecting one from it?”

“…I see no reason why not.”

Javert shuffled to behind the desk. There was only one chair, which Valjean was occupying, so he stood. It was a little awkward; still, he made no complaint. He listened as Valjean explained his intention. 

“I want it to be simple enough that I could rewrite it,” Valjean indicated the pile of forms, “that many times—”

Javert interrupted. “More than twice as many, really. Those are just the most essential for ensuring you legally exist. —I have interrupted you. Continue.”

“Well, I was saying— simple enough to rewrite all those times, but not so simple that it’s barely more than printing my name. And I can’t have it be just a scribble, but I do not want to appear pretentious either…”

“Alright. First of all— nobody will care.”

“What?”

“Government employees are not paid to judge signatures. As long as the paperwork is in order, and it’s somewhat consistent, nobody will raise an eyebrow.”

“…And second?”

“This,” Javert indicated the paper, “is a perfectly good signature, by your criteria.”

“…There are twenty on there.”

“Are there? All I see are minor variations of the same one. You’re overthinking this, Jean; you’ve already chosen a signature. And quite a good one, actually.”

Valjean chuckled. “Of course _you’d_ say that,” he replied, smiling fondly. 

“Ah, no, _this_ was an impartial judgement. I would have approved of this signature regardless of,” Javert gestured between himself and Valjean, “ _us_ ; and if it had not been good, I would have expressed that with equal lack of bias.”

“Well… thank you.” Valjean saw that one of Javert's hands was resting on the desk; he placed his own hand over it.

Javert made a dismissive noise— in the dim candlelight, and given the colour of his skin, it was difficult to tell, but he may have been blushing. He did not pull his hand away. “Really, you did all the work; I arrived after you had already refined it to this degree.”

“Still, I would not have settled upon the choice had you not helped me. I do believe that thanks are in order.”

Javert raised an eyebrow, a smile curling at one corner of his mouth. “Well, when you phrase it like _that_ …”

A very similar expression formed on Valjean's face. He nodded, gazing into Javert's eyes. “The forms can wait till tomorrow.”


End file.
